Good Girl(49)

Becca answers first. “Work.” She looks to her right as if she’s searching Dom out in the crowd, and adjusts the napkin on her lap. But after a second she turns back to me with a small smile. “Sort of through my ex-husband.”

“Oh! I didn’t know you were divorced.”

“He passed away.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I respond quickly, and with a lowered voice. Dead. Death follows me everywhere.

“Where did you two meet?” Elle asks.

I blink once, then twice at them. “I was sort of lost...” I start to say, and Becca raises her eyebrows, almost comically. “In the States, I mean. I’m from here originally, but we moved to Russia when I was young. I bumped into Kane and he helped me find my footing here.” I make up a bullshit answer.

“Oh! So that’s where that hint of an accent comes from!” Elle says.

“Accent?” Becca looks at Elle like she just said something truly perverted.

“I think I may have a tiny accent on some words. But I was older when we moved,” I answer.

Elle starts to ask the obvious question. And I can practically see the wheels turning in her head as her mouth slams shut. I wonder how much she knows. How quickly she’ll be able to put two and two together.

“I have to say, you two are an adorable couple. I’m so happy we finally got a chance to meet you,” Becca says, and Elle nods in agreement.

I feel a slight smile pull at my lips and say thank you, but my chest hurts.

How did they meet? At a bar and through work. Like normal people.

“I have to pee. Again,” Elle says, holding her swollen belly and it’s funny, but I don’t laugh.

“Do you have to go, too?” Becca asks.

I do. But I’d rather not right now.

“No, you two go ahead. I’ll wait right here for you.” I smile back at them.

“Are you sure?” Becca asks.

“Of course, I’ll keep an eye out for the dessert tray for us.” I force out a happy tone. But I’m feeling more insecure than ever.

“You’re so sweet,” Elle answers, and turns to her right as someone calls out her name. She leans closer to me with a smile and says, “We’ll be right back to talk more.” She squeals at the end and it forces a smile from me.

But it’s forced nonetheless.

Everyone keeps calling me a sweet girl. Kane thinks I’m a good girl, but I’m not. None of them know me. Not the real me.

I’m not like these women. They’re strong, and obviously in love with their men. But they’re also normal. They aren’t ruined and broken beyond repair. My eyes fall, and I reach for the tall glass of champagne in front of me and put it to my lips. I taste the smallest bit on my tongue, but nausea keeps me from taking more into my mouth.

And they may already know who I am. What I’ve been through. They could be talking about it in hushed whispers in the bathroom right now.

Everyone at the wedding may know. They’ve been sweet to my face, but behind my back, what are they saying?

I’m sick of who I am. I’m sick of hiding it. I’ll never be okay. I’ll never heal. My eyes search the room and I find Kane by the bar. Talking and laughing. It’s genuine, not forced like me.

He deserves so much more.

Shame and guilt consume me.

He’s done so much for me; how can I treat him like this? All I do is lie to him and pretend to be someone I’m not. I can’t keep doing this. I set the glass down and lift the white linen napkin off my lap. As I place it on the table, I see the knife.

I casually slip the knife into my clutch and stand up.

No one will notice me leaving.

My heart clenches at the thought of Kane finding out. But it’ll be better this way. He deserves so much more than me. I’m so fucking selfish. I’ll keep lying to keep him. It’s wrong. I’m ruined and broken.

I’m not his good girl.





Kane





Where the hell is Ava going? I watch as a sliver of her dress vanishes behind the door. It closes slowly and I give it a moment before opening it as quietly as possible so she doesn’t hear me sneaking up on her.

I can’t imagine what she’s up to. She’s not from around here, so I don’t think she’d be doing anything but taking a look around. Still, it’s not wise. She should know that. You don’t go snooping around on mafia territory. It’s just not smart. I hear her heels clicking down the hall as I walk slowly to the corner. And then the noise is gone, replaced by the patter of her feet smacking against the tiled floor.

Maybe her feet are hurting her and she just needs some fresh air? My forehead wrinkles in confusion. She has to know I’d give them a little rubdown for her. I clench my jaw as I turn the corner. Something twists in my gut. This is off. Something’s just not right.